


Narcissa Tournamental

by Lomonaaeren



Series: Narcissa Militant [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Assassins & Hitmen, BAMF Narcissa Black Malfoy, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Crack, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2018-12-16 09:51:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11826249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lomonaaeren/pseuds/Lomonaaeren
Summary: Narcissa never thought Harry would be chosen for the Triwizard Tournament. Of course, she never thought Hogwarts wouldholdsuch a dangerous tournament, either. But it’s up to her to make her boys safe, and that she will do.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Content Notes: More violence in this one, otherwise the same as the rest of the series.
> 
> This will probably be four parts long.

“What is it, Harry?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been having these disturbing dreams lately, where I can hear a hissing voice telling a snake to do something, and then everything fades to black. I don’t understand them. But they make my scar hurt.”

Narcissa moved swiftly across the dueling room and knelt down to slide her hand across Harry’s forehead. “Let me see.”

Harry did, although he winced as her hand glided across his forehead. Narcissa considered the scar, compared it to her memories of how the thing usually looked, and found cause for concern. This looked as if it was new-inflicted, with traces of a scab and dried blood on it. She nodded and glanced at Harry. “You told the house-elves not to tell me there was blood on your sheets, didn’t you?”

Harry flushed and looked as if he would squirm away from her for no good reason. But Narcissa was not someone who permitted things like that to happen. She went on staring, and Harry finally muttered, “I should have known I couldn’t hide things from you.”

“Yes. And usually you have better sense than to try. So I want to know what was different enough about this time to make you think you could.”

Harry looked at his feet instead of answering. Narcissa only waited. They were in the middle of their training room, which had gained more weapons and obstacles for Harry to practice on this summer. He could look nowhere that would not remind him of what he was aspiring to, or her greater prowess in his skills.

Harry finally sighed noisily and muttered, “You don’t—you’ll think it’s stupid.”

“When have I ever thought a complaint was stupid? Or a dream of yours?”

Harry looked harder at his hands, which were clenched together. “I didn’t tell you about the blood because that wasn’t the only thing on the sheets that night,” he said tightly.

Narcissa arched an eyebrow, then patted his shoulder. “And that is only a normal, ordinary part of growing up, Harry. You could still have told me about both. Embarrassment is not a good trait for an assassin to have. We might hesitate to do something that could save our lives or someone else’s life because of it.”

“Oh.” Harry hesitated. “I’m not really an assassin yet, am I?”

“Of course not. You’re not trained.”

Harry swallowed noisily. “But what if I just want to use my skills to protect the people I—my friends, and not kill people?”

Narcissa smiled. “You will find that sometimes you can only do that by killing someone. Or something. I have dispatched magical creatures, too, when they were threatening someone else and I was being paid.” Perhaps the diary would even count as a magical creature, although Narcissa preferred to think that was simply Riddle’s foulness.

Harry said nothing for some length of time. Narcissa settled back comfortably on her heels, and waited.

Finally, Harry said, “So what do you think I should do about the scar and the dreams?”

“Write to your godfather, first of all. If this is something he’s heard of, then I would like to know.” Sirius had vowed to research curse scars and see if he could learn anything about Harry’s. Now that he was officially free, after his trial in the Ministry, he could gain access to private collections of books and libraries more openly, including collections that Narcissa, as an accused Death Eater’s wife, would be turned away from.

“All right. If he hasn’t heard of it?”

“Then we start training you in Occlumency,” Narcissa said. “I was already considering that, but until now, building up your physical skills was more important. I think you are reaching the boundary of being able to handle yourself in a fight. Now we can defend your mind.”

Harry nodded, the stiff lines in his face smoothing out, to Narcissa’s relief. He already knew about Occlumency and Legilimency as concepts, although he hadn’t done any training with them yet.

“What’s the first step?”

“Look into my eyes, and do your best to clear your mind,” Narcissa said, and when Harry gave her a puzzled look, hid a smile. It was going to be a long training period, that was clear.

*

“What are you doing with that mask, Lucius?”

“No—nothing.”

Lucius tried to whisk the white mask behind his back, but Narcissa stepped easily towards him and took it out of his hands. She turned it over and looked at it curiously, but truly, she didn’t need much time to recognize it. It was the same mask he had worn when he played at being a Death Eater and acted as though his Mark was important compared to the wedding vows that bound him to her and Draco.

“Strange that you would have this with you when we’re getting ready to go to the Quidditch World Cup,” Narcissa remarked, and threw the mask back.

“I—you never know what might come up,” Lucius said feebly. “I mean, for example, I might see some of the other _accused_ Death Eaters there.”

“Yes?”

“And we might want to reminisce about—old times.”

“I think,” Narcissa said, and made her smile sweet and sharp and strong, “any reminiscing that you do would best be done in private, with a drink, and absolutely _no_ white masks and dark cloaks and walking around waving wands in the air.” She stepped towards Lucius and lowered her voice. “Do you understand me, Lucius?”

He squeaked and then nodded fervently. Narcissa had promised him once that he would lose both her and Draco if he tried to make too many moves in the service of the Dark Lord. It seemed that conversation still held sway in his memory.

 _Sometimes, I think he can learn,_ Narcissa thought, and patted his shoulder, and went to make sure that the two excited boys were fully dressed and ready to leave. They had seats in the top box, of course. Flashing the Minister a charming smile on occasion was worth it.

Never mind what thoughts lay _behind_ the smile. Narcissa had a knife thirsty to taste Fudge’s blood, especially when his hands wandered. Unfortunately, Fudge was useful to Lucius, so the poor thing would just have to wait.

*

When the first screams erupted through the campsite, Narcissa immediately cast a spell that spread a shimmering silver net around Draco and Harry. Draco, who’d been about to bolt out of the tent, caught his breath and stared.

“What does this mean, Mother?” he asked, eyes shifting to her. Narcissa nodded. He could certainly have worse responses in this situation than curiosity.

“It means that someone has done something stupid,” Narcissa said, listening. There were screams of two different kinds, she thought. There were yells of pain and those of fear. The fearful ones were predominant. There were Death Eaters Muggle-baiting, as she had thought there would be from the moment she arrived at the campsite and found Muggles there, and there were those reacting to something else.

“I meant the spell, Mother.”

Narcissa gave a faint smile over her shoulder as she slipped out of the tent. “Figure it out. You should be able to, or at least Harry should be able to, from his studies.”

“What does the spell do, Harry?” Draco asked, and if he stumbled a little over Harry’s name, Narcissa thought that no bad thing, either.

She walked swiftly through the tents and into the woods, casting a spell that would make glances skim across her and think her only part of the shadows. She understood the screams of fear when she reached a gap in the trees and tilted her head back to see the Dark Mark floating above them.

_Ah. Then there is someone more than the Muggle-baiting Death Eaters here. They would be stupid enough to begin with the baiting in the first place, but they would not do something that might call their old allegiances into question._

Narcissa closed her eyes and sank into her own magic, into the parts of her discipline that she rarely used. Most of the time, simpler spells and weapons could protect her and enable her to find her target. But someone who had done this would either have hidden or be hidden by someone else, most likely, and she would have to pierce stronger barriers than usual.

Her breath whistled out of her, fierce and cold. The lines of the magic around her cracked apart from the world and became visible. When Narcissa opened her eyes again, she was in the middle of a fierce black world crisscrossed with writhing nets of silver, like the one she had imprisoned Draco and Harry in.

She made her way calmly through the blackness, her own spell preventing others from seeing her or running into her, and found the transparent line threaded through with gold that meant an Invisibility Cloak was at work. Her first thought was Harry, but her confidence dismissed that. There was no way he could break through the spell she had used without understanding it first, and his training had not advanced that far.

It only took working her way through a few clumps of trees and past a half-collapsed tent for her to find the source of the tension. Fudge was arguing with a man it took Narcissa a moment to place: Bartemius Crouch, another Ministry flunky. Standing next to them was a house-elf, wringing her hands. On the ground in front of them was a wand that Narcissa recognized at a glance. Lucius’s.

 _So he was out here in the forest, reminiscing._ Narcissa filed the thought away, and turned her head to trace the transparent cord only she could see.

There was a man there, hidden under an Invisibility Cloak. He was rigid and staring straight ahead. Imperius Curse, most likely, Narcissa thought, studying him. But he must have been free to use the wand. She knew there were limits to Lucius’s stupidity. He might have been Muggle-baiting, but he would never have relinquished his wand to anyone else willingly.

_Good. Then he will yet live._

Both Fudge and Crouch were shouting—Fudge defending Lucius, his ally and bribemaster, Crouch insisting that all evidence pointed to Lucius casting the Dark Mark and his house-elf was innocent—but Crouch’s gaze went sideways more often. He knew about the man in the Cloak, then. And he knew that the man had cast the Dark Mark.

But he was blaming her husband.

 _Well, then_. Narcissa descended once more into her training and dismissed the sight of the crawling cords of magic. It would only distract her when she took care of the problem. She knew where the man in the Invisibility Cloak stood by his disturbance in the leaves, and she did not need her eyes to aim.

She always carried powerful, virulent poison, and it was the work of a moment to coat her blades with it. Then she threw two knives at once, from slightly difference angles, with enough force to cut through a far stronger cloak. By the time the man gurgled and fell over, and Crouch and Fudge had only begun to turn to look, Narcissa had withdrawn behind the tree and used her own Disillusionment Charm.

She strolled calmly back to the tent, to listen in delight to Harry’s theoretical explanation of the silver net that had kept them caged. It was a more pleasant exercise than waiting for Lucius to return.

*

Of course, all good things must come to an end, and that end was Lucius stumbling through the tent flap looking as if he expected one of her poisoned blades to strike into _his_ throat.

It would not happen, of course. Should she be forced to kill her husband, Narcissa would not make his death so traceable.

Harry and Draco were both asleep in the next room of the tent, which meant Narcissa cast a Silencing Charm on her husband right away and shook her head when he opened his mouth to explain. “I saw your wand lying on the ground between Crouch and Fudge,” she said. “Did you get it back?”

Lucius nodded.

“And you got out of the predicament without causing trouble for our family with the Ministry?”

Another nod. In truth, Narcissa would have been surprised if she had got any other response. Lucius was a genius in his limited arena.

_What a pity that he so often steps outside it._

“What did you tell them?” she asked, and removed the Silencing Charm.

Lucius swallowed, and Narcissa ignored the flicker of his eyes to her hands. There were things more important than what Lucius found attractive right now. “That someone brushed by me in the crowd and took my wand, which is true. Crouch seemed—most anxious not to inquire further into the matter once I told him that.”

“Yes, I killed the man who took your wand,” Narcissa said, with a faint frown. It seemed that Crouch had been doing something he didn’t want found out, bringing that young man to the Quidditch World Cup and keeping him under an Invisibility Cloak, but she had no idea what he could have achieved with it. “Under the Imperius Curse and an Invisibility Cloak, facing the other way—but Crouch knew he was there.”

Lucius fell silent, his brow wrinkled as his brain worked. Narcissa let him do it. Lucius was useful when he was not swaggering on about his purity of blood.

“I wonder,” Lucius said, slowly, “if it could have been his son. Barty Crouch, Jr. A fanatical Death Eater, who supposedly died in Azkaban at about the same time as his wife died.”

“Easy enough to switch one body for another, one person for another,” Narcissa murmured, and nodded. “Did Crouch seem as if he was able to explain the body to Fudge’s satisfaction?”

“He expressed the same astonishment as Fudge did,” said Lucius, tilting his head. “Said that the man must have been the one who cast the Dark Mark and was hiding under the Cloak, listening to them in order to thwart whatever the Ministry chose to do next. The resemblance between him and the young man wasn’t very noticeable. I suspect that Fudge swallowed it whole. You know his paranoia.”

“And his pride,” Narcissa said softly. “He always assumes that if something happens near him, it must be _targeted_ at him.”

Lucius went still and stared at her warily. He knew he was in trouble when she used that tone, although he obviously didn’t see how yet.

“Lucius, Lucius, Lucius.” Narcissa stepped up to him and gently rapped her dagger against his teeth. Lucius winced. “Your own pride is _enormous_. You thought I wouldn’t find out? _Really_?” It was disappointment and not wrath she felt, and she let that seep into her voice, and Lucius flinched more from that than the dagger. “What were you doing out in the woods?”

“I—it’s so _frustrating_ , Narcissa,” Lucius burst out suddenly, sounding like someone purging a wound. “To watch the Muggles and the Mudbloods prancing around, acting like they’re mightier than us, as if purity of blood means _nothing_! I know you don’t like the Dark Lord, but he did promise to cleanse them, and it’s good to be back with like-minded people and release some of that energy….”

Narcissa stood back and let the purging go on, the venomous words flowing out of him, the way she would have listened to Draco complain about someone he didn’t like in Slytherin House. The difference was, Lucius wasn’t fourteen years old.

“Feel better?” Narcissa asked, when he was done.

Lucius nodded, and then his eyes glowed with apprehension. He had _just_ remembered, from his expression, about his promised punishment.

“You may miss the Dark Lord all you like,” Narcissa said, and moved towards him. He didn’t try to shrink away, probably because he knew it would do no good. “You committed to following him when you were young and stupid—before you met me. I will not tolerate this stupidity now, Lucius.” Her voice was a hammer, and she watched the nails of her words striking him. “Any more than I would have tolerated you releasing that diary into Hogwarts. You must choose now who you wish to serve. Me and Draco, or your Dark Lord.”

Lucius found courage somewhere in the depths of his heart. “If I choose him?”

“Then you will not see me again,” Narcissa said flatly. “Or Draco.”

“You would leave—”

“Yes, we would. And you will not _see_ me again, Lucius.” Narcissa smiled, and let him think about all the things she could do from out of sight.

Lucius shuddered and flung himself on her neck. “I choose you,” he mumbled frantically into her ear.

“A wise choice,” Narcissa said, and touched his hair for a moment before she turned and Transfigured the first whip for the second, and less agonizing, part of the punishment.

The expression of sheer gratitude on his face was part of the reason she had married him.


	2. Chapter 2

“They _are_ having the Triwizard Tournament at Hogwarts?” Narcissa had been gone the last few days on a mission that was well-deserved and well-paying, and she hadn’t had time to read the _Daily Prophet._ She tossed her hair—newly freed of the dye that had made it look black—over her shoulder and eyed Lucius.

Lucius nodded on the other side of the lunch table. “Apparently it’s some kind of attempt to harmonize relationships between the three schools.” He held out the paper.

Narcissa turned it around, and read the article with growing amusement. There was a short history on the second page of how many Champions had died in the last few Tournaments before they’d stopped having them. Narcissa shook her head. “There are many easier ways to kill themselves if they want to,” she murmured. “Be foolish enough and I would be happy to put a knife in their hearts.”

Lucius took the paper back and cautiously stirred up his soup. “Are you going to warn Draco and Harry about it?”

“Tell them about it. Not warn.” Narcissa shrugged and returned to her own plate. “They’re both smart enough not to risk trying to enter. I’m sure there will be an Age Line or similar precaution. And even if Sirius is reckless enough to try and put the idea in Harry’s head…”

“I’m sure he’s smarter than that.”

“Perhaps. Grown men aren’t, always.”

That made Lucius flush and keep his eyes on the soup for the rest of the meal.

*

“Be brave this year,” Narcissa said, her hands resting lightly on Harry’s shoulders. “Keep up with your training even though I’m not there.”

Harry blinked and stood straighter. “Of course.”

“And feel free to write to me about _anything_. Including any ridiculous plans your friends might try to involve you in, or the mad behavior of someone else.” Narcissa let her eyes flicker sideways for one instant, to where Draco was waving his arms around as he told Pansy Parkinson about their trip to Greece this summer.

This time, Harry had a smile for her. “Of course. Good-bye, Narcissa. Thank you.” For an instant, he leaned lightly against her, enough not to disturb either his hidden weapons or get pricked by hers. Then he moved back, and caught Weasley’s eye, and they were lost in a conversation about Quidditch that Narcissa could only follow because of that time she’d been undercover spying out the true allegiances of a player on multiple teams.

“Draco, darling.”

Draco stepped up to her and gave her a solemn look. Narcissa ran her fingers through his hair and smoothed it down again, then smiled at him. She wouldn’t tell him to watch out for Harry, because Harry was capable of doing that himself now, and more cautious to boot. He knew what would happen if he risked his life needlessly and she caught him.

But she did have something she wanted to say.

“I want you to remember that you have every right to be proud, Draco,” she said, and bent to kiss his forehead. “But you don’t need to remind others of it at every opportunity, or step on _their_ toes in your desire to be proud. Do you understand?”

A soft pink flush ran up down Draco’s neck to his cheeks, and he hung his head. “You’re saying the way I bragged to Pansy was wrong.”

“Do you think _she_ had the chance to go on holiday and see the naiads dancing in the waterfalls?”

Draco shook his head silently. Then he said, “But she liked hearing about it—I mean, what do I do if someone asks me the _question_? I can’t just lie and pretend I didn’t go on holiday or I’m not rich, right?”

“No. But think of the courtesy your father and I show at parties. Or with Ministry politicians who are hoping for some of our gold but don’t have it yet. What do you see us do? Answer every question in the same way?”

Draco stood, thinking deeply. Narcissa waited. She had deliberately brought them early so that the Hogwarts Express wouldn’t leave before she could have the conversations she needed to with her son and Harry.

Draco finally said, “No?” Narcissa raised an eyebrow, and he repeated it more firmly. “No, I mean. You don’t just answer honestly. You smile, and sometimes you hint about how much you enjoyed an event or a party or something someone did, and you might contribute to that enjoyment. Or you say that travel broadened your mind and made you able to see a new perspective.”

“Exactly.” Narcissa touched his shoulders this time, which had straightened from their slump. She was glad to see that. It was never her intention to chastise her child, only to correct him. “Be gentle, Draco. You don’t need to insult others. You don’t need to confront them. Those are certainly tactics, but only valuable in the proper context. Do your smiling and your courtesy to their faces, and if you need to laugh at them, do it later.”

“Is that even valuable with people like Pansy who want to help us or who can’t hurt our family?”

“Yes, of course. Remember that someone with an unreasonable sense of anger or entitlement can still hurt you. It might not be deeply—someone you insulted at Hogwarts might only spread a rumor about you instead of try to duel you—but I don’t want you hurt _at all_. Use your words and manners to defend yourself.”

“That’s not the sort of thing you’re teaching Harry.”

“Harry is naturally the kind of person who can depend on his weapons better than his words.”

Draco grinned, then, brighter than Narcissa thought she had seen since the World Cup. “Is that your way of saying that he has no tact?”

“Oh, he’ll learn the kind that keeps him from resorting to violence indiscriminately. But I do believe in letting you both play to your strengths, not forcing you into the same mold.”

Draco nodded, and then the train whistle blew so loudly that they wouldn’t have been able to continue their conversation much longer. Narcissa sighed and embraced her son one last time, which he might only have let her do because no one was watching. “Be safe, darling. Remember to owl me if you have any concerns.”

“Of course,” said Draco, and then he dashed away towards the train, yelling for Harry to come with him. Harry quickly made his excuses to his friends and caught up with Draco. For a moment, when they were balanced in the entrance to the compartment they’d chosen, Narcissa saw them share a swift private smile.

 _Like me and Lucius,_ Narcissa thought. _Only better._

She Apparated home in a cheerful frame of mind.

*

The low growl in front of her made Narcissa crouch down. She shook her head. The perfume that she had bought in Knockturn Alley as a mask for her scent had not worked as advertised. She would need to visit the seller and…explain…her disappointment.

The werewolf took a long sniff and padded closer to the bracken. Narcissa waited until it had come close enough that she could make out the arch of the throat, and then she threw the knife.

It struck only glancingly, but it opened a scratch, and that was enough for the poison she’d coated the blade with. The beast kicked and thrashed and screamed. Narcissa stood up from the bracken she’d been hiding in and walked over, bending down to draw another knife and carve open the werewolf’s belly. The woman who had hired her had made her promise to do this, even though it would be her poison that killed the savage. Her client’s husband had died that way from the werewolf’s claws.

“This is for Bethelyn Graves,” said Narcissa, speaking to the werewolf, although she thought the pained howls probably drowned out her voice.

Finally, the werewolf lay still, and Narcissa shook her head again and cut off one paw as proof. She cast the spell that would burn the rest of the body and Apparated home. She had no blood on her, but the sweat of work was still thick enough to make her want a shower.

Lucius entered as she was binding her wet hair back. For once, his eyes didn’t linger on the waterdrops sliding down her shoulders, which made Narcissa frown at him. “What is it?”

“Draco wrote us this letter,” Lucius said quietly, and held it out.

 _Us_. That was unusual. Most of the time, Draco either wanted his father’s praise or her confidence. Narcissa dried the outer strands of hair that might drip and sat down on the rose-colored couch just outside the bathroom, reading with a rapid gaze.

It said baldly, _Harry’s name came out of the Goblet of Fire to compete in the Triwizard Tournament. I know he probably thinks he can survive since you’ve been training him, but it was still a stupid thing for him to do. And he didn’t_ tell _me_!

Narcissa spent a moment stroking the parchment, and cast a few spells that would identify whether the person writing these words was under an enchantment, such as the Imperius Curse, that compelled them to write certain things. But no result for that came back. Draco had written this letter.

It simply made no sense that Harry would have decided to risk entering the Tournament when he knew he would have to deal with _her_.

Or else, someone had done it for him.

Narcissa spent a moment mourning her loss of relaxing time, and cast the charm that would dry her hair completely. Then she Summoned one of the black robes that was slit up the sides and let her move most easily from the nearest hanger, and began to dress. “Don’t wait up for me, Lucius.”

“You’re going to Hogwarts?”

“Yes.”

“What about the wards—”

“As if I wouldn’t have planted workarounds in them when I was there last year,” said Narcissa, and looked at him until he bowed his head. He rubbed at his left arm, and Narcissa glanced at it briefly. It did seem that the last time she had seen the Dark Mark, it had looked blacker than it had all these years.

But that was a crisis for the future, and right now, she had more than enough to deal with.

She reached out to the workarounds in the Manor wards, the ones she didn’t use often because it might take as long as thirty seconds for the wards to repair themselves after they were used, and Apparated out.

*

Narcissa sighed and blinked, forcing the swirls of red away from her vision. As she had suspected, one of her most generally useful spells was useless at the moment. It was meant to detect hostile intent towards a specific person.

Right now, most of Hogwarts hated Harry.

Narcissa slipped into one of the passages that she had cut through the rock of the castle walls, branching off a passage that had been there already. This one brought her most of the way up the Astronomy Tower, near the quarters that had been hers when she was playing Astronomy apprentice last year. She walked quietly through the corridors, avoiding the groups of gossiping students as if she was really the shadow under the torches that they took her for.

That didn’t mean she couldn’t listen. And she picked up useful information as she moved.

“Potter _must_ have done it, he always wants to be the center of attention—”

“He said someone else must have done it. Who would have done it for him? You know none of the older students would have wanted to give up their chance to be chosen!”

“Yeah, I think he’s lying. He did the same thing about why he was on the Quidditch team in first year, after all.”

Narcissa shook her head and passed into the shadows that surrounded the corridors outside Gryffindor Tower. That walk had told her what the other students thought, but, of course, little of what was _really_ going on. They had not paid attention, or they would know that Harry hated his fame and would never have willingly competed in the Tournament.

She waited until she heard a large group of Gryffindors coming, and stepped off to the side so they wouldn’t slam into her as they went into the portrait. Their password was spoken loudly enough to echo off the walls, and Narcissa snorted soundlessly as she slipped in after them. “Truth.” Of course.

_As if most of them would know the truth if it stabbed them in the stomach._

The common room was filled with tight knots of students. Narcissa toured around the shadowy corners, and found that they all seemed to be discussing different aspects of what they called the “Potter Problem.” Some of them wanted to prank Harry. Others wanted to simply give him the silent treatment and wait until he started acting “like a real Gryffindor” again. Some thought they should bargain with him until he revealed the secret of how he had got past the Age Line, and then prank him.

Narcissa sighed a little as she made her way up the stairs to the room that the fourth-year Gryffindor boys would be sharing. Unfortunately, Harry’s skills weren’t up yet to a sustained fight with so many opponents, or she would have encouraged him to take care of matters that way.

The curtains of his bed were drawn. Narcissa cast a spell that would tell her the life-forms in the room, and nodded. Harry was behind those curtains, and the only other living thing here right now was a small plant next to what was probably Neville Longbottom’s bed. Narcissa strode over and charmed the curtains open.

She approved of the speed with which he took a knife out, at least.

“You should have told me the instant someone entered you in the Tournament,” she said, and sat down in front of him, hands folded in her lap. “Why didn’t you?”

Harry stared at her, his eyes shadowed and his hand still clutching the knife. Then he laid it down and glanced aside.

“You know as well as I do that refusing to talk does not work with me,” Narcissa said, and settled herself in to wait. She watched as his cheeks flushed redder and redder. His eyes also kept darting to the door of the bedroom. He was probably imagining what would happen if one of the other boys came back and found his foster mother sitting on his bed.

Narcissa smiled, and waited.

Harry finally exhaled and said, “Draco—Draco doesn’t believe me when I say I didn’t put my name in the Goblet. I was afraid that you would side with him.”

Narcissa blinked, once, letting her eyelids rise and fall until her lashes brushed her cheek. She had to do that to acknowledge the shiver of anger that passed through her. Then she said, “Why is that?”

Harry stared at her as if she had gone mad and declared her intention to follow the Dark Lord. “Because he’s your son?”

“That does not mean I will always believe him, any more than I always believed his wild tales when he was a child.” Narcissa looked straight at Harry, and waited until he looked back. Harry was too direct a person not to do that after a certain point—another reason Narcissa had taught him to defend himself with knives and spells instead of lies. “I wish you had written to me. And told me what you think happened.”

“It has to be someone else who did it. Who put it in, probably in the name of a different school. There were supposed to be only three sets of papers, one for Beauxbatons and one for Durmstrang and one for Hogwarts.” Harry faced her with his trembling arms wrapped around his knees. “I didn’t do it. I _didn’t_.”

“I know you didn’t.”

Harry relaxed all at once, his head drooping forwards. “How did you know?”

“Because you would never have done such a thing when you knew you had to face me.”

Harry flushed like Draco had at the train station before they got on the Hogwarts Express, and nodded. “Well, that’s true. Um. I suppose that I should have told you—”

“Yes.”

“But it’s too late to change anything now, anyway. The Headmistress told me that there’s a magical contract binding people chosen by the Goblet to compete. That’s why they were so careful to restrict it to people who are of age, mostly. They’re going to be risking their lives if they’re chosen.”

“Which means you will be risking your life.”

“Yes.”

“Not for long.” Narcissa patted his shoulder and stood up. “Thank you for telling me the truth, Harry. While I wish you had done so at once, I also understand what held you back.”

“What are you going to do, though? Since you can’t keep me from competing in the Tournament.” Harry squinted at her.

“I’m going to make sure that you’re safe,” Narcissa said. “And not risking your life. I told you once that I will not have you doing that until you are an adult and no longer under my protection.”

“But no one knows what the Tasks are ahead of time. Are you going to find out and tell me?”

Narcissa chuckled a little. It heartened her that he recognized how much within her power that was. “No. Think about it, and you may understand in time.” She kissed Harry on the forehead, wrapped the shadows around herself again, and slipped out of the room.

It was time to call on her contacts from Beauxbatons, where she had once wanted to send Draco. There was a particular professor who would do much to avoid having her fetish for chicken feathers exposed.

And then Narcissa would do something to…take care of the problem.


	3. Part Three

Narcissa studied her son for a moment, then nodded. She had long since observed that most people were not at their handsomest when they were hanging upside-down in a net. She was glad of the chance to test that observation out on her son and note that he also proved her general theory.

Even if the circumstances under which he had proved it were not the best, at least they were mostly harmless.

Narcissa paced over in front of him and stopped. She had rigged this net in a dungeon corridor that led to the kitchens and which she knew from last year only Draco regularly traveled. “Draco,” she said sadly. She was still under a Disillusionment Charm, and he thrashed comically trying to find her. “Why did you not believe Harry?”

“But he put his name in the Cup!”

“I am glad to see you always ready to argue,” said Narcissa mildly, in a tone she knew conveyed the exact opposite, and watched Draco freeze. “What proof do you have that he would put his name in the Cup? It must be strong, to go against Harry’s sworn word.”

“But _everyone_ wants to be part of the Tournament! I would have done it, if I could have got past the Age Line!”

Narcissa cocked her head. _Oh, dear._ Luckily, Draco had fallen silent, too, as if he had just thought about how _she_ would take his words.

“Then it appears that I have failed lamentably in teaching at least two of my lessons,” Narcissa said in a voice that was almost a ritual chant, shaking her head so that her hair swished behind her. “Harry didn’t learn that he could write to me about anything, and I would believe him. And you didn’t learn that you shouldn’t rush into danger.”

“But, I mean—that was just Harry. He’s in danger all the time, so you’re trying to teach him not to—”

“I meant it for you, too, Draco. Or do you think I would be happy if I had to come to the school to identify my son’s mangled corpse?”

A long silence. Narcissa paced back in front of the net, and watched Draco’s face. Even though it was scarlet from all the blood rushing to his head, he looked stricken. “I—didn’t think of it that way.”

“Of course you did not. This Tournament affair seems to have a great deal of _not-thinking_ to go around.”

Draco sighed. “All right. So—you spoke to Harry? You believe him when he says that he didn’t put his name in the Cup?”

“Of course I have, and of course I do. And I expected better of you, Draco.”

She saw him flinch and swallow, and nodded in satisfaction. If her estimate of his character was right, then she would need to give him no more scolding than that. The humiliation of being held upside-down in a net wasn’t something Draco would easily discount. And it shouldn’t take more than this to make him apologize to Harry.

“I—all right, Mother.”

“Good boy.” Narcissa unraveled the net with a spell that set him gently back on his feet instead of dropping him, and bent down to kiss his forehead. Since he was looking so contrite, she decided she could offer him a sop to ease his conscience. “Besides, the Tournament is about to become much less exciting to compete in.”

Draco stepped back and stared in her general direction with wide eyes. “You’re going to kill the competition?”

Narcissa made herself visible and shook her head. To her, it seemed obvious what the best course would be to make the Tournament less dangerous, but amusingly, it didn’t seem to have occurred to either Harry or Draco. Harry had thought she would tell him the Tasks, which wouldn’t mitigate the danger. And here Draco was thinking she would kill mere students, not a challenge to her and not the real enemies. “Of course not. I am going to do something else.”

Draco kept frowning at her. Narcissa waited a few moments to make sure that he wouldn’t suddenly come up with the answer, but when he didn’t, she smiled at him and ruffled his hair. “I expect to hear that you’ve made up with Harry.”

“Of course.”

Draco continued to watch her with concerned eyes as Narcissa waved one hand and vanished back into the shadows. She had one more person to visit before she went home and began sending owls to the professor at Beauxbatons. She would probably send them with chicken feathers tucked into the envelopes. It would make her more inclined to cooperate.

_In more than one way._

*

“Severus. I am so disappointed that you’re spreading the rumors that my son would have put his own name in the Goblet.”

Once again Narcissa was in the guise of Lily’s ghost, and once again Severus jerked and turned around to stare at her. But this time, he didn’t immediately cringe as he had last time. “He is an arrogant _brat_ ,” he whispered. “I know you loved him, Lily, but even you can’t help but admit what he is.”

 _Loved._ Interesting, Narcissa thought, that he believed maternal love died when the body did. “I see the truth. I know the truth. Harry did not put his own name in the Goblet.”

“But _who would have?_ The other Hogwarts students all want to compete. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang want to win themselves, no one at those schools would try to increase the competition—”

Narcissa interrupted him with a cold stare. “Who has been behind most of the troubles in Harry’s life so far, Severus? And in your own for that matter,” she added. To retain a hold over Severus, she had to show some sympathy for him as well.

It was remarkable to watch how fast his face changed to the color of old cheese. “The Dark Lord?” he whispered.

“You _can_ be taught.”

Severus shook his head and clutched his left arm for a second. Then he said, “But which of the Dark Lord’s servants would have access to the castle?”

“Remember that the protections here could hardly keep out someone with a Dark Mark, Severus,” Narcissa said, in the low, illusory voice that she had chosen to project as Lily Potter’s. “The Headmaster had to adjust the protections so that you could teach here, didn’t he?”

Severus nodded absently. Then he said, “But _which_?”

“He used a spell that obscured the matter even from my sight. But you are an experienced spy, Severus. Surely you can find out?”

His face formed quickly into strong lines, and he nodded. “I will do this for you, Lily. And I cannot—” He hesitated. “I can’t suddenly tell my Slytherins that I believe Potter didn’t put his name in the Goblet. But I can stop spreading the rumors myself, and stop tormenting him.”

“Thank you, Severus.” Narcissa bowed her head. She would not blame Severus for the actions of others. If they proved troublesome enough to Harry in themselves, she would handle them. “I will leave you to it, then, and—and thank you.” All it took was a slight break in those words and a certain hesitation right afterwards to convince Severus she was the spirit of his dead love.

Severus looked up at her with eyes shining in devotion. It was a disturbing sight. Narcissa wondered absently if that was among the reasons that Lily had ended up marrying Harry’s father.  
“I promise, Lily. I will do as you ask. I have never had anyone to live for other than you…”

And on and on he went. Narcissa had to float there, smiling absently, acting as though this declaration was for her. She was glad when she could finally nod and say, “Then show that devotion to my son, Severus. Farewell,” and seem to float through the wall.

Severus took several loud, deep breaths behind her. Narcissa left him to his private mourning rituals. Honestly, mourning had never been of any interest to her.

*

_Dragons._

Narcissa leaned back from the Beauxbatons professor’s letter and tapped her wand against her lips. Lucius looked in at the study door, but shrank back when he saw her with her wand out.

“What is it, Lucius?” Narcissa kept her voice soft and friendly. She preferred that her husband not be _too_ afraid of her. He might simply run to the Dark Lord if he was, as a threat he could understand and perhaps counter.

“No—nothing important.” Lucius dropped his gaze before her impatient stare. She as well as he knew that he wouldn’t have bothered her for something unimportant. Lucius cleared his throat uneasily. “My—Dark Mark is so black now that I can see it shining through white shirts.”

“Well, make sure to wear darker shirts and robes,” Narcissa said, but she stood and beckoned him. Lucius held his arm out to her with a little sigh. Narcissa hid her smile. Honestly, while she still couldn’t believe Lucius had chosen an insane monster to follow, it surprised her less that he _had_ become a follower. He needed someone to take care of him and show him the right way.

Narcissa peered at the Dark Mark, careful not to touch it. Yes, the flesh was raised and shiny and a dark, sickening purple, much different than the flat bruise-like mark it had turned into during the years of the Dark Lord’s absence. She nodded. “From now on, I want you to wear a bandage above it when you’re at home.”

“So he can’t extend his influence outside the Mark,” Lucius murmured, and relaxed with a sigh that ruffled the lace collar of his robes. “Thank you, Narcissa.”

“I’ll also need you to handle the affairs of the business and any letters from Draco or Harry for the next week,” Narcissa went on briskly, stepping away from her husband to go to the desk and make sure papers were in order. “You know where to put the official requests for assassinations. I’ll be traveling and moving quickly by Apparition and International Floo. Owls would have a hard time catching up with me.”

“Why are you going?” Lucius said, and at least he didn’t whimper when he said it.

“To make sure that the First Task can’t hurt Harry, of course,” Narcissa said, and went to pack practical outdoor robes and cloaks. She knew the dragons hadn’t been moved to Hogwarts yet. That made her job harder, because she had no way of determining for sure what kinds of dragons would be used in the First Task.

_But someone who wants an easy job should not have become a mother._

*

Narcissa sat calmly in the stands built for the First Task, in the section reserved for close friends and family of the Champions. Draco was fretting next to her, his eyes locked on the Forbidden Forest where the dragons had been placed.

“His Gryffindor friends are still giving Harry a hard time.”

Narcissa sighed a little. “There’s less I can do about that.” She knew at least the Longbottom boy and the Granger girl believed Harry, and honestly, if his only loss was the Weasley boy, Narcissa would count it a small one.

The Champions walked into the tent that would hold them until they were all ready, separately, to face their dragons. A few other people entered it, like Ludo Bagman. Narcissa had to smile when she realized none of those people were Dragon-Keepers. And, in fact, the Dragon-Keepers still outside the Forbidden Forest were getting summoned into it in large clumps, via whispers and shouts and waving arms.

Draco noticed in enough time that Narcissa didn’t have to feel ashamed of her teaching, and he frowned. “What did you do to the Dragon-Keepers, Mother?” he murmured.

 _At least he is wise enough to know the work of my hands when he sees it._ “What makes you think I did something to the Dragon-Keepers, darling?”

“They’re running around like a bunch of Hufflepuffs after an escaped Flobberworm.”

Narcissa chuckled. As long as Draco could recognize there might be danger in Hufflepuff when it was needed, then she didn’t mind the occasional disparaging remark he made towards them. “It wasn’t them.”

“Then what—” And Draco’s mouth sagged and he stared at her.

Narcissa winked, at the same moment as a group of Dragon-Keepers came marching out of the Forest like a funeral cortege and made for the Champions’ tent. They proceeded to drag Bagman out and have an intensely whispered discussion, accompanied by more flailing arms. Draco didn’t notice. He was too busy staring at her.

The waving and whispering had progressed to shouting, and Delacour, the Beauxbatons Champion, went so far as to stick her head out of the tent and frown. The Dragon-Keepers and Bagman didn’t notice. By now, Bagman had joined in the arm-waving, as if it were the obscure Muggle ceremony Narcissa remembered reading about them doing before games.

“Mother, you _didn’t_ have. You _couldn’t_.”

“Oh, of course I couldn’t kill them, Draco. They’re innocent in and of themselves. But I couldn’t allow them to be used as weapons to hurt Harry, either.”

“But you couldn’t—wait, that week you were gone. What did you _do_?”

Narcissa sat and smiled.

By now, everyone in the stands was craning their necks to figure out what all the fuss on the Dragon-Keepers’ side was about. Bagman made a motion of despair and came trooping to stand in front of the audience, his face so hangdog that Narcissa would have felt sorry for him if he wasn’t one of the people putting Harry in danger. As it was, she knew exactly how she would kill him if she got the chance.

“It, um,” said Bagman. Then he cleared his throat and cast the _Sonorus_ Charm a second time, since his voice had been almost entirely overwhelmed by the crowd’s shouts and questions. “It appears that the dragons we intended to use for the First Task are, um, asleep. Yes, asleep and cannot be awakened.” He glanced around as though someone would appear from the side and rescue him. But no one did, and the shouts increased, so Bagman had to continue. “The Dragon-Keepers have tried every method they can think of to awaken them. It—well, it didn’t work. So. Um. We have no First Task. The Champions will be returned to the school until—”

This time the jeers and outright screams were so loud there was no point in Bagman continuing. He finally threw his hands up and returned to the tent. This time, Narcissa saw Harry peeking out. He looked at her, and Narcissa tipped her head and smiled.

“But they were awake when they got here,” Draco said, his voice low. “Or someone would have noticed before now. And dragons aren’t really vulnerable to sleep spells, anyway. What did you _do_ , Mother?”

“Dragons aren’t vulnerable to sleep spells or most Stunners,” Narcissa agreed. “Which is why the Dragon-Keepers always have to Stun them working together. But they _are_ vulnerable to contingency spells. I placed one on the gates of each large dragon sanctuary, so the dragons would become affected by them as they passed through. If the dragons came close to a large enough crowd of children and teenagers, they would go to sleep. They’ll wake and be fine once they’re taken away from Hogwarts.”

Draco blinked. Then he said, “You went to _every_ dragon sanctuary? Every big one in the world, I mean?”

“Hence why I was gone for a week,” Narcissa reminded him dryly. “Yes. It would have been easier if I could have waited or if I knew for certain which kinds of dragons were being used, of course. But if I had put them to sleep too early, I chanced Bagman and Crouch and the rest coming up with a new Task I couldn’t prevent. And not even the one I learned about the Task from could tell me which sorts of dragons they would choose. They may have left the choice entirely to chance, at the last minute. I would have.”

Draco only looked at her. And looked. And looked some more. Narcissa began to raise her eyebrows. Not speaking was one thing, even being startled, but he was beginning to look like a gormless fool.

Draco removed his eyes from hers and cleared his throat. “Sorry, Mother. I simply—how in the _world_ did you come up with a plan?”

“That is one of the advantages of the discipline,” said Narcissa, smiling at Harry again as he caught her eye and then moved towards the school. “Accepting defeat is impossible. Therefore, one finds something that is not defeat.”

Draco followed her gaze, and for a moment, his eyes softened. Narcissa sat back smugly.

Then Draco looked at her and asked, “And what about the other Tasks that they intend to have the Champions face?”

“I shall handle them, too.”

This time, Draco heard the implied _of course_ floating in the air. And he smiled the way she had always meant him to smile. “I have every faith that you will, Mother.”


	4. Part Four

“Weasley finally did forgive him,” Draco said.

Narcissa raised her eyebrows slowly as she studied him. Draco had sent her a letter saying he urgently needed to speak to her by Floo, and Severus had let him use the Floo in the Potions professor’s office. But now that he had her here, all Draco seemed inclined to do was chatter about meaningless gossip that he could easily have put in a letter.

“Draco,” she said, when he opened his mouth again. “Tell me why you wanted to speak to me by Floo—the _real_ reason—or I will leave.”

The flush that surged up her son’s pale cheeks was definitely something he had inherited from his father. Narcissa had never blushed after she understood the ways of the world.

“There’s a Yule Ball coming up,” Draco said, and his fingers fidgeted with his sleeves. “I—all the Champions have to attend it. They all have to bring a date. The other people who can attend it are fourth-years and up.”

“And?” Narcissa imagined that he wanted to go with Harry, but that was still not something he had needed to Floo his mother about.

“Harry hasn’t asked me! He was talking about how awful it was to have to dance with someone when he can’t dance that well, and he looked past me and said maybe some girl in Gryffindor would take pity on him and ask him. Or maybe he would try to get his Granger to go with him. Not _me_!” Draco folded his arms with a dramatic swish.

Narcissa fought to keep from smiling. She said, “Do you envision yourself in the position of a Gryffindor girl swept off her feet by the Boy-Who-Lived, Draco?”

“Wha—of _course_ not!”

“Then ask him. He has to go. He doesn’t want to do the asking by himself. Surely you are the next logical choice, when you want to date him?” Narcissa watched with interest as the flush on her son’s face deepened from rose to apple.

“I want _him_ to ask _me_!”

“That sounds like you being in the position of the Gryffindor girl you denied being, Draco.”

“It’s just—” Draco stared at her. “I _want_ him to actually _choose_ me, not go with someone who’s second-best because he’s too afraid to ask me! Or maybe he doesn’t really want me, but I don’t think that’s true—”

“I am sure it is not. However, in this case, the fear of asking holds him back and makes him recoil from the humiliation. After the way he has been humiliated at the hands of the entire school for supposedly making himself Champion, I can understand why he feels this way. So this once, Draco, I think you must do the asking. Harry will have other chances to sweep you off your feet and show you how much you mean to him.”

Draco was turning the color of a tomato now. “ _Mother_.”

“You were the one who wanted to discuss this,” Narcissa said. She truly could not understand Draco’s position. If Harry had been more confident and more prone to put himself forwards, then yes, it would make sense for Draco to wait until he asked. But he wouldn’t, so Draco had to. It was what Narcissa would have done if she was that age and someone she fancied wasn’t up to asking her. He wouldn’t have what he wanted unless he strove for it. Surely she had taught her blood son that lesson as well as her adopted one?

“I don’t—I want him to choose me!”

“He will choose you in many important ways, ways that matter, in the future. Are you going to sulk about this one all your years together instead of making one choice on your own?”

Draco shut the Floo down. Narcissa rolled her eyes. She would make sure to tell Draco that she didn’t want to hear anything about the Yule Ball in the future. In his hands lay the power to change it, and he had thrown it away.

Narcissa had little respect for such people.

*

“Harry went with _Patil_.”

“Which one?” Narcissa asked idly as she studied the cauldron in front of her. It was swirling with blue and silver, so bright that it looked as if the liquid were starred with molten metal. If this worked, then it would solve the problem that currently confronted her about the Second Task. If not, then she would have to find another solution.

And she would have to make sure that she had _enough_ of the potion, too. Which meant creating enormous batches of it, and then creating some more for this cauldron, because of course she would have to test some of this on the small tank of goldfish swimming contentedly next to her.

“Mother, aren’t you _listening_?”

“No. I told you that I didn’t want to hear any more about the Yule Ball, Draco.” Narcissa finally decided that standing around and waiting would be useless. She dipped her ladle into the cauldron, scooped up a precise amount of both silver and blue potion, and then walked towards the aquarium.

“You don’t _care_ about me!”

Narcissa turned around and poured the ladle into the aquarium at the same moment as she caught and held Draco’s eyes. “I love you very much,” she said to him, and he opened his mouth a little and listened. “But that does not mean I can do all things for you, Draco. I advised you on what to do about the Yule Ball. You didn’t want to listen.”

“I just want him to choose me.”

“Over what?” Narcissa supposed she should have asked that question before. Harry _had_ chosen to stay with Draco and be friends with him over the protests of his Gryffindor friends, and while he had wavered during second year, he had never done so since. He had told Draco the truth about not putting his name in the Goblet. He had done what he could to protect him, and he was training with some of Narcissa’s same goals in mind.

Draco opened his mouth, then paused. Narcissa nodded and began to write down notes as she watched the potion affect the water in the aquarium, but not harm the goldfish.

“You have to think about that, Draco. There are things he can do to show that you are special, but he has done some of them, and they are not enough. What is it you _want_?”

Draco said nothing, but the Floo shut down again. Narcissa smiled in satisfaction and turned back to watch the goldfish darting around and pushing their noses curiously against the bounds of the much smaller area.

The potion should work. Now, for the tedious task of brewing some more.

*

“ _Mother_.”

Narcissa turned her head and smiled. Even the cold whip of the February wind past her cheeks couldn’t dim her cheerfulness. “Yes, darling?”

Draco stared at her morosely. Around them, the people who had chosen to run the Triwizard Tournament were once more arguing: Crouch with Bagman, Karkaroff with McGonagall, Madame Maxime with Hagrid, for some reason. Narcissa shook her head. What a disappointment McGonagall had turned out to be. Narcissa saw no reason to kill her yet, but she seemed to think that blithely putting Harry in danger was an acceptable outcome, rather like Dumbledore.

“You did this.” Draco’s voice was small and muffled as he stared at the shadow hovering overhead.

“Yes, darling.”

“If you had just _let it go_ ,” Draco hissed so hard that Narcissa turned to look at him with mild surprise, “then this could have been a chance for Harry to show that he _chooses me_.”

“He can show that any time he wants,” Narcissa countered, and reached out to smooth her hand through Draco’s hair. Draco only moved angrily away, beginning to stomp around the shore of the lake.

Or what had been the lake.

Narcissa felt her own smile crook her mouth, and she looked up.

Overhead hovered the gigantic ball of the congealed lake, filled with darting fish and grindylows and waving weeds and piled rocks and the merfolk, who watched the wizards with the kind of fascination that Narcissa usually used to look at her own aquarium. She had harmed none of the creatures in the lake. She had simply dumped in gallon after gallon of her potion, which was water-based and full of harmless ingredients otherwise, and which made the water droplets want to stick to each other and fly.

“What are we going to _do_?”

Narcissa deigned to pay attention to what other mortals were saying again. Ludo Bagman had given up shouting at Crouch and was staring hopelessly at the water, shaking his head a little. Crouch stood next to him with his hands folded behind his back, his face blank stone.

“We said that we would skip the First Task and make the Second and the Third worth twice as much,” Bagman was rambling. “But now that the Second Task is impossible, too…” He turned around and stared hard at McGonagall. “You should know everyone who’s on your grounds, madam!”

“Right now? With all the other students coming and going from the school, and family members of the Champions wanting to be admitted, and Dragon-Keepers here, and Aurors?” McGonagall scowled at Bagman, her pointed hat slipping down towards one ear. “I am lucky to recognize my own _students_ at this point.”

“Well, someone is obviously disrupting the Tournament!”

Narcissa tuned out the argument again and turned to catch Harry’s eye. Harry gave her a small grin and then glanced off to the side. Narcissa followed the track of his gaze, expecting to see either Weasley or Granger there.

No. Instead he was looking at Draco, with enough love and longing to satisfy even a proud mother who thought her baby boy deserved the best.

Narcissa smiled. She could tell Draco this, but she doubted he would believe her. It would have to wait on some open gesture that Harry made, some method of choosing him that even Draco couldn’t mistake.

Narcissa strolled away, whistling softly under her breath, and contemplating how she was going to disrupt the hedge-maze that her contact at Beauxbatons had told her was the Third Task.

*

Narcissa paused. She had come to the Quidditch pitch, where the hedge-maze had started to grow, and was placing withering spells that would keep the plants from taking root. There were other magics woven through them that would put any dangerous magical creature or human that entered them to sleep.

But now she had heard something. And although she wore a complicated charm that allowed her to blend into the shadows, it was not _impossible_ for someone to see her. The last thing she wanted was to be found out and have Harry endure even more isolation because his foster mother had disrupted the Tournament.

She slipped quietly towards the sound, on the other side of the Quidditch shed. It repeated itself, small and wet. Narcissa raised her eyebrows. Perhaps she would simply find a snogging couple too wrapped up in each other to notice her.

She did. And they were Draco and Harry.

Narcissa smiled to herself and slipped back to withering the hedge-maze. It seemed that Harry had finally either made his “choice” or they had shouted at each other until the truth had come out. She could imagine either scenario, but she would never ask them.

It was enough to know that things were working out.

*

“ _This is ridiculous_!”

Narcissa raised her eyebrows politely from where she was sitting in the stands a short way behind and above Minister Fudge. “Please, sir, what do you mean?”

Fudge turned to her, scowling so hard that he didn’t even remember the instinctive deference he showed Lucius most of the time. “The maze for the Third Task is not—responding as expected,” he said through gritted teeth. “We have no place to shelter the obstacles and magical creatures and deadly spells we were planning on using!”

Narcissa smoothed down her robes over her legs and lowered her eyes. “Well,” she murmured, “I hope that you will excuse me for celebrating. I was _not_ looking forward to seeing my foster son shoved into the middle of a dangerous situation he did not choose for himself.”

Fudge instantly turned a little pale and coughed. “Ah, yes, of course, Mrs. Malfoy,” he stumbled out. “I—of course you would be concerned for his safety. But it was just going to be a little challenge to the Champions, you know. A challenge to see who was worthy of everlasting fame and glory!”

“My foster son already has all the fame he would need,” Narcissa said softly, lifting her gaze and her eyebrows in the same moment. “ _Ever_. And he is rich enough not to bother with a thousand Galleons. You had no reaction to the announcement that he did not choose this situation, Minister.”

“I—er, of course, conflicting reports—well, Mrs. Malfoy, I mean,” Fudge chose to bluster, “say someone else _could_ have dropped his name in the Goblet of Fire. Who would it _be_? Not even young Mr. Potter has managed to track someone down or say who he suspects!”

Narcissa nodded calmly. She suspected it had been a Death Eater who had assumed a Polyjuice disguise to sneak into the school and then departed as soon as that was done. “Believe me, Minister, we are working with Harry on proving it. But I can only be glad that someone is protecting my ward from danger. If he has a mysterious enemy, can he not have a mysterious protector?”

“A mysterious enemy!” Fudge, as usual, latched on to the least important part of the statement and beamed at her while sweat continued to streak down his face. “Yes, yes, that makes much more sense than—than You-Know-Who!”

“We _don’t_ know who, Minister. That is precisely the problem.”

Fudge gave up on the conversation as a bad job and muttered some platitudes as he turned away to address Bagman. Narcissa smiled at the wilted remains of the hedge-maze, and then Draco nudged her abruptly in the ribs and pointed.

“What’s Professor Sinistra doing, Mother? She looks awful.”

Narcissa stared at Aurora with a frown. Draco was right. She was sweating and pale as she walked forwards, her arms clasped around a large golden cup. The cup glowed at the top as though it was overflowing with flames, and for a moment Narcissa thought McGonagall had asked her to bring out the Goblet of Fire for some reason. Perhaps they intended to choose a new Task that they could ask the Champions to risk their lives at.

But instead, Aurora thrust the cup towards Harry with a jerky movement. “This is for you,” she said, barely moving lips that looked numb. “The one who would have been the true winner of the Tournament, if we could hold it.”

Harry backed up a step, eyes narrowed, his hand darting down for a knife the way Narcissa had so carefully taught him. But he hesitated, because they were in public, and Narcissa had also taught him not to reveal what he was except under circumstances when he might otherwise die.

Narcissa couldn’t make it to the bottom of the stands before Aurora moved the cup again, and Harry’s hand brushed it. There was a shimmer and both of them disappeared, pulled away into the whirling colors of a Portkey.

Narcissa checked herself. She couldn’t betray her hand here, especially since the one woman she would have wanted to target for hurting Harry was gone entirely. She bit her lip and held still.

Then she said softly, as McGonagall came hurrying up with her hat still askew, “What was _that_?”

“I don’t know.” McGonagall was almost panting, and she looked honestly distressed, although that wasn’t enough for Narcissa. She wanted answers and blood. “I have no idea—why would the Astronomy Professor have a grudge against Harry Potter?”

 _She doesn’t,_ Narcissa thought, her mind working quickly through possibilities. _Aurora isn’t a Death Eater, or I would have sensed the presence of that particular Dark magic when I was around her last year. No, this is something else. But she goes into debt. I know that. She mentioned owing more people than me when I was her assistant last year. And she could easily have put Harry’s name into the Goblet, as well._

That she was in debt to the Dark Lord, or more likely a servant of his, was such a strong possibility that Narcissa had settled the matter to her satisfaction in her mind before McGonagall opened her mouth again.

But that did not tell what she wanted to know most, which was where Harry _was_.

“Did Sinistra say anything?” Narcissa asked, and glanced at the other Hogwarts professors who were closest. Severus, Pomona, and a woman with a pale face and her hands pressed to her mouth who must be the Muggle Studies professor. “About where she was going, or why she brought that cup out to my foster son like that?”

“That was the Triwizard cup,” McGonagall said in a dazed voice. “She must have enchanted it into a Portkey, but….I had no idea that she even had permission from the Ministry for such a thing!”

“She didn’t.” Fudge bustled up, sweating and important. “I’m sure she didn’t!”

Narcissa would have answered, but she saw a spasm of pain cross Severus’s face then, and his hand move to his left arm. She stepped towards him. She didn’t care, at the moment, if he saw something dangerously familiar in her voice or face. She would _Obliviate_ him later if she needed to. “Where is he calling from, Severus?”

The man stared at her. Then he shook his head and said, “I don’t intend to answer the call.”

“You will. Or answer to me, and Lucius, and all the power of the Malfoy wealth behind us.”

She didn’t know what threat persuaded him most, or if he was beginning to think about the possibilities of Harry being in the Dark Lord’s presence that she was. He inclined his head and reached out to grasp her arm. Then they began to move towards the Hogwarts gates, which weren’t far away, anyway, considering how everyone had gathered outside for the Task.

McGonagall said something behind them. So did Draco. Narcissa looked back and smiled at her son, once. She didn’t want him to come along. He didn’t even have Harry’s training to keep him safe, and both she and Severus would be fighting.

The moment that they emerged into the slanting sunlight beyond the gates, Severus Apparated, and took her with him. Narcissa laid one hand on her wand and kept the other firmly fixed on Severus’s sleeve.

She was going to destroy the Dark Lord tonight. Even if only a piece of him.


	5. Part Five

Narcissa landed and immediately turned to the side. She hit something made of stone with her hip, but even that was useful, as telling her where one obstacle was. She immediately looked around.

They had landed at the edge of a graveyard. A Muggle one, to judge from the unwavering inscriptions on the stones and the lack of defensive spells Narcissa could sense. She stepped to the side and wrapped the shadows around her.

“Narcissa!”

Severus might hiss and snarl, but he ought to be grateful to her for getting out of the way and not endangering him by remaining near him. Narcissa could see the bubbling, hissing cauldron in the center of the graveyard, next to a crumbling headstone. At least three cloaked figures hovered around it, firing spells at—

A smaller, lithe, dodging figure. Two other dark figures lay motionless on the ground. And something thrashed in swaddling clothes at the Death Eaters’ feet.

Narcissa smiled. Harry had done well so far to avoid getting Stunned or otherwise incapacitated. But she knew his luck would run out at any moment. She made her way quickly through the growing dusk towards the battle. Severus lingered behind her as if he wasn’t sure which side he wanted to join.

 _An opinion that seems to often plague him,_ Narcissa thought, and managed to refrain from rolling her eyes, although it was a near thing. Severus would have to choose his side after this, and he would regret it if he chose to oppose her and Harry.

Harry hurled a knife at one of the Death Eaters, distracting him, and followed that up with a strong leap and roll that carried him behind the protection of a mausoleum decorated with winged humans. Narcissa paused herself. The Death Eaters were conferring between each other, and as much as Narcissa wanted to let Harry know she was here, she thought what they wanted might be important.

“ _He_ wants to be resurrected using the boy’s blood,” one of them said, in what sounded like a protesting voice.

“But if we can’t catch him, then we can’t use his blood,” said another, folding his arms and shivering a little. “We need our Lord. He can tell us how he wants to deal with the brat. Let’s use someone else’s blood.”

“And how are we going to do the ritual, Yaxley?” demanded one of the others, and almost stomped his foot. “The ritual needs the blood of an _enemy_! I hope you’re not suggesting that any of us are enemies of our Lord…?”

The chorus of hasty denials that arose made Narcissa melt backwards. She knew what ritual they were using, now. And she knew that she could not let Harry’s blood, or skin, or any other part of him, be used in it.

The Death Eaters seemed to have come to the opposite decision. They were spreading out now, to be able to get on either side of the mausoleum. All of them carried their wands openly, and Narcissa could hear them beginning to mutter nastier spells than Stunners under their breaths.

 _Then they need to die,_ Narcissa thought calmly, and raised her wand. She could cast some powerful spells nonverbally, and that was what she did. The black fog that rushed out of her wand immediately swarmed two of the Death Eaters.

Savage screams emerged from inside the cloud, followed by frightened ones, and then the crunching of bone and the flying of blood. When the cloud dissipated, there were only fragments of skin and some white splinters left.

The other Death Eaters stepped back as one. “There’s someone else besides the boy here!” one of them quavered.

 _What geniuses you are,_ Narcissa thought, and glided to a new vantage point. She would have liked to tell Harry she was there, but he might be able to figure it out anyway. She had shown him the Pseudo-Obscurial Curse, although Harry hadn’t managed to want to kill someone strongly enough yet to use it.

She ended up behind a small headstone, aiming her wand at another Death Eater’s ankles. When she incanted the spell, all the bones in his legs snapped. He fell over screaming and waving his arms, and Harry took advantage of the distraction.

With another hurled knife, he darted out from his hiding space and ran straight towards a golden gleam in the distance. _The cup that brought him here,_ Narcissa thought, shading her eyes to see. He probably hoped that it had been enchanted as a two-way Portkey, and he could use it to escape.

Narcissa could hope the same thing, but she did not survive on hope. She threw a knife of her own, scratching the arm of the nearest Death Eater and forcing him to retreat, and then headed quietly after Harry.

Something reared up in front of him and tugged him down, though. Narcissa managed to see that it was an enormous, shadowy serpent with glowing eyes and snapping fangs. It coiled around Harry and imprisoned his arms as he fought to reach a weapon or his wand.

Narcissa cast a spell without slowing down. The Internal Inferno Curse would burn the serpent from the inside out, but wouldn’t harm anything or anyone that it held. She only had to—

The spell caught as a flicker of fire on the snake’s tail and then died out. Narcissa was so startled that she stumbled. The serpent flung its head around and hissed at her, the enormous tail scraping back and forth in the grass.

Harry sprang free, but he turned around and stood facing them instead of retreating. Narcissa hissed at him as well as she could when she was neither a snake nor a Parselmouth, but Harry only set his stubborn little jaw and stood there looking as if he would actually continue the battle.

 _I will have to have a talk with him about this later,_ Narcissa thought, and backed up slowly as the snake slithered towards her, feeling behind her with one foot to kick small stones out of the way. For a moment, it occurred to her that she could only have that talk with Harry if both of them survived, but she dismissed the notion impatiently. What was the point of thinking about things that would not happen?

The snake hissed again. Harry went still and stared with wide eyes. Narcissa twisted out of the way of a complicated strike that had started off feinting towards the left.

“She says—she says that she’s a weapon of her master, and you can’t destroy her,” Harry muttered, his voice shaking a little. He paused to recover, and added, “And that you’re a foolish human, but I think that part’s less important.”

_A weapon—like the diary?_

Narcissa lifted one small shoulder in a shrug. She supposed it explained the way that her spell had utterly failed to harm the snake. But, right now, that was less important than surviving. She had already decided that one strike from the serpent’s fangs would mean she was unlikely to live.

The serpent turned back towards Harry, as if she thought him more of a threat now that she knew he was a Parselmouth. Narcissa cast a spell at her, scorching the ground. She had thought of a way to render the serpent harmless for a time if she was indeed like the diary.

When the snake swung around, towering into the air and opening her mouth so that her fangs shot out, Narcissa Transfigured her into a book. The book flopped to the ground, bound in scaled leather and flipping its pages in agitation. Hissing emerged from their turning noise.

Narcissa nodded. Changing the diary into something else with the potion had worked, and even though this looked to be temporary, it would allow them to escape.

She circled around the book and seized Harry’s arm, hauling him close. “ _Come_. We must—”

A Slicing Spell caught her along the arm. Narcissa grimaced and tugged her sleeve down. Very well, she should have been watching the other Death Eaters around her as well, and not concentrating so intensely on the snake or Harry’s battle with it.

Another spell struck her arm, but this one only pulled some blood from the cut and sent it streaming in a long rush towards the cauldron. Narcissa narrowed her eyes as she watched the blood sink into the water. _They must be so desperate for blood of the enemy that they’d use mine not even knowing who I am._

A shape moved near them, and Narcissa nearly threw a curse before it resolved itself into Severus. “I must stay and see what happens next,” he breathed to her, shaking his head at the cut on her arm but reserving most of his attention for Harry. “You should go, though. They haven’t put up anti-Apparition spells yet.”

“They don’t think Harry knows how to Apparate,” Narcissa said, and nodded. “But you should come with us.”

“No. I have to spy—”

“For who or what?” Narcissa felt a little satisfaction as a very old suspicion of Lucius’s was confirmed, that Severus had indeed been spying on the Death Eaters. “Dumbledore is dead, and I don’t think the resistance that will be forming to the Dark Lord’s return needs a spy. I have my own ways of watching him.”

Severus stared at her with eyes nearly as wide as the ones he’d shown when he knelt before her in her disguise as “Lily Potter.” Then he shook his head. “That can’t possibly be right—”

“It is right.” Narcissa turned her back and raised a Shield Charm as another Death Eater launched a curse at her. “Now, unless you _desire_ to witness the return of the Dark Lord or the transformation of his snake for some reason, come with us.”

Harry had remained still in her grip, but he tilted his head back now and gave Severus a skeptical glance. It seemed to be all that Severus needed to realize that he was being ridiculous. He glared back and began to run with them towards an even larger mausoleum than the one Harry had hidden behind. They would need shelter for the concentration necessary to Apparate.

There was a _whumping_ sound behind them, and Narcissa glanced over her shoulder. She did want to see what the resurrected Dark Lord looked like, even if she wouldn’t be facing him for some time.

He was pale and skeletally thin as he climbed out of the cauldron, and a thin swirl of pale hair clung around his face, but only on the sides of his head, so that the middle remained bald. His fingernails seemed to curve like her own did when she was playing the part of Malfoy matron revered by society. His eyes were visible even from this distance, red as her blood had been while he stared across the distance. His serpent, herself again, curled at his feet and hissed in agitation. Narcissa shook her head. She knew that even those eyes couldn’t pierce the shadow spell she had wrapped herself in.

But he seemed to see Harry well enough. He hissed something in Parseltongue that had Harry choking and stumbling over his feet.

They ducked behind the mausoleum, and Narcissa seized Harry’s arm and hauled him close. She grabbed Severus with the other and then concentrated as hard as she could, wrapping her wandless magic around her. In seconds, they’d Apparated back to the spot outside the gates where she and Severus had taken off from.

They stood there for a second, panting. It was almost intolerably different, in the slanting beams of _this_ sunset, from the one they’d fled.

Narcissa turned to Harry. He nodded to her, knowing what she wanted to hear, and muttered, "He said that I was going to die and he would use all my blood to feed his snake.”

“Well.” Narcissa smoothed her hand down Harry’s arm. “That just shows that he’s not very intelligent. _I_ was the one who caused all the trouble for him this evening, so you’d think he’d be threatening to feed _me_ to the snake.”

Severus choked. Narcissa looked at him and raised a commanding eyebrow. He shifted a step, then gave a tense nod.

“Harry, please go ahead and find Draco,” Narcissa said. “And don’t tell him the truth until you’re alone and you’ve put up those spells I showed you over the Easter holiday. If anyone asks before then, just act in shock and say I managed to find you and rescue you from Aurora.” In truth, she had not seen Aurors anywhere in the graveyard. She would find her, of course. It would simply take a bit longer.

Harry nodded, a dazed expression on his face. Then he flung his arms around her waist and held on. Narcissa stroked his hair, and heard the low sound of him fighting back against his own sobs.

Then he pulled away and ran towards the school. Having something to do right now, orders to obey, would soften the blow. Narcissa watched him go, and silently increased the number of people she would find vengeance on.

She finally sighed and turned to Severus. He was staring at her with much the same expression as he had been before. She gestured towards the darkness of the road to Hogsmeade. “Walk with me.”

He did, his steps tense and his hand always on his wand. Narcissa nodded to his left arm. “How much pain will the Mark give you if you don’t answer the summons?”

Severus’s eyes twisted up. “Enough,” he said, voice clipped. “You could ask Lucius that question.”

“Oh, I could, but I also invented a potion that will deaden the pain,” Narcissa said, shrugging. It couldn’t remove the Mark completely, which was part of the reason she had never introduced it to any other Death Eaters. But it would keep her husband from feeling as if his arm was being seared off.

Severus jerked to a stop and stood staring at her. Narcissa tilted her head in inquiry. “What?”

“How could you do that? I am a Potions genius and have found no solution.”

“There are things that are a matter of discipline, training, and books in the Black library,” Narcissa said. She felt a shimmer of relief move through her. This was a simpler solution than the Memory Charm or curse she had been thinking would be necessary to make Severus “forget” what he’d seen tonight. “I will give you the recipe if you will swear never to mention to anyone what you saw in the graveyard.”

Severus paused. Then he turned so that his back was to the gates and the crowd clustered around Harry—so no one could read his lips, Narcissa noted approvingly—and fixed his gaze on her. “You offer me the recipe instead of some of the potion you have brewed yourself?”

“You would not trust what I had made and want to brew your own in any case. I am setting up a trade that will not waste the time of either of us.”

A scant second later, Severus inclined his head. He had an odd, twisted sort of smile, but he chose to use it now. “What am I say if someone connected to the media asks me for reports?”

Narcissa paused a moment before she answered. It was likely that the Ministry, and perhaps others, would cast doubts on Harry’s word, just as they had on his statement that he hadn’t put his name in the Goblet of Fire.

Then again, she had her own plans for dealing with those who were disrespectful to her foster son.

“You may say what you please,” she said, “as long as you do not reveal the truth.” Her eyes darted to Severus’s left arm and back. He would not want to mention, or at least not focus attention on, the fact that he had the Dark Mark anyway. “And as long as you do not mention me being there in any way.”

“Agreed, Narcissa.” Severus paused, his lips pursed. “I find myself wondering how much of Lucius’s success in the Ministry and socially is _your_ success.”

“Do continue to wonder,” Narcissa told him coolly, and turned away. “I understand that it builds healthy connections in the brain.”

She crossed through the gates and into the small crowd of people knotted around Harry and Draco, scattering them effortlessly. Harry, his arm around Draco’s shoulders, looked up at her.

He was a raw fourteen-year-old in that moment, not a raw assassin. Narcissa knelt down in front of him and gathered him close. “Shhh,” she whispered. “I understand. And I will keep my promises. All of them. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

Most of those listening would believe it was a simple platitude to a child, the kind of thing any grieving mother might utter without being able to keep the promise. Harry met her eyes, and reached out, and held on.

Draco did the same thing from the other side a moment later.

Narcissa held them.


End file.
